The Terrible fate of Islia Sea
My skin glowed with a luminescence that came from within.
It felt like my veins had been replaced with live wire. I studied my once light brown complexion in the long mirror in my killer’s—my husband’s dearest friend—room.
Joseph locked me in the cabin of his yacht—Islia Sea—while we sat moored off the shores of Tulare Island waiting for his guests to arrive. Everything—from the overly large bed that sat upon a white marble dais adorned in gold velvet to the claw-foot tub with gilded fixtures—seemed to be from another time and place. Just like the ballgown he wished me to wear. None of it felt real.
I turned my head to the side to better study my neck. Not a single bruise marred its smooth surface. How had he managed to remove the bruises his hands would have made when he choked the life out of me? But then again, how had he managed to raise me from the dead?
In the mirror’s reflection, I stared at the door opening behind me. Joseph walked in, his dark brown eyes roaming hungrily over me as his nostrils flared. “Why aren’t you dressed?” he asked, demanding. When I didn’t answer, he stormed over, snatching the red velvet dress from the bed. Gold embroidery had been stitched into the bodice of the gown. The stitching looked like marionette strings. “Put this on before my guests arrive.”
I lifted my chin. “I will not!”
His hand was like lightning, the sound like thunder, as he struck me. I stumbled back, falling against the vanity. “You are mine to command. To control. You will do as I say. I am your master now.” His words raked across my skin.
I did not belong to this man.
Rage bubbled to the surface, and my hand gripped the scissors behind me. A smile spread across my face. By his expression, he believed my smile was for him until I buried the scissors in his neck. Blood gushed, running down his gold jacket. I turned away and picked up the dress. Maybe I would put it on and wait for his friends to arrive.
